Back To Tomorrow
by Lucia-Theresa Horizon
Summary: Him. Harry Potter, the Ex-Savior. For a reason-that-cannot-be-named, had brought a mind-damaged Slytherin home and taken care of him for four long years, just to receive a straight blow to his jaw when said Slytherin woke up. Post-war translated fic. Full summary inside.
1. Autumn Leaves

**Author:** Kao Rei

**Beta reader:** Rurouni

**Translator:** Aldaris aka me

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco from Harry Potter and they don't belong to me.

**Genre:** slash fic| Post-war| Pink |Romance | Hurt/Comfort. | Non-AU (except the sequel "19 years later")

**Rating:** M

**Status:** Completed

**Note from the author:** Many thanks to Rurouni, my soulmate for having written "Still" so that this long fic could become its sequel.

Actually, I had wanted to write a gentle story about everything that a post-war fic should have. Anyway, write just for fun XD Feedback plz!

**Summary:**

/Him. Harry Potter, the Ex-Savior. For a reason-that-cannot-be-named, had brought a mind-damaged Slytherin home and taken care of him for four long years, just to receive a straight blow to his jaw when said Slytherin woke up.

And him. Draco Malfoy, Ex-Death Eater. For a reason-that-cannot-be-recalled, had _Obliviated_ himself, currently living in a Gryffindor's house and coming to realize The-Boy-Who-Lived-And-Lived-And-Lived had a new peculiar hobby of staring lovingly and smiling dazzlingly at him.

_"Potter, either take me to have a damn 'brain surgery' and then to a luxurious restaurant with roses and an eighteen-dish menu, or just put the apron on, scurry to the kitchen and cook me that horrible soup of yours. Hurry up and choose."  
_

_And the green-eyed man gently smiles before suddenly bending down to give Draco a quick kiss on his nose, his face literally shining with unhidden joy.  
_

_Draco silently lets the other intertwine all ten of their fingers, a small smile blossoming on his lips._/

* * *

**Back to tomorrow.  
**

By **Kao Rei.**

_"To me, whether I love or hate that person, I still have to care, to follow and remember each and every image of him in order to love or hate. And then one day, I realize my heart must always have a special place for that person. That's why the opposite of Love isn't Hate._

_It's Oblivion._

_That's why the most terrifying thing isn't that he hates me, but that he has already forgotten who I am."_

_._

_._

_._

[I pray for their happiness.]

.

.

.

**Chapter 1.**

**[Autumn leaves]**

Draco wakes up in a tidy, small room with green curtains gently fluttering in the early morning wind. Little drops of sunshine fall on the white pillows and bed sheets, silent without a sound.

When his eyes have become accustomed to the light, Draco realizes he isn't alone. Sitting by his bedside is a man about twenty years old with disheveled midnight hair, asleep with his chin on his elbow. Draco very clearly remembers that face, one that is no longer childlike but has grown more mature and strong with time, thin locks of hair falling on his forehead and the old lightning bolt scar.

He squirms on the bed, waking the other man up in the process. Sleepiness dims the brightness in those brilliant green eyes, their sharpness still hard to hide without the usual glasses. The man smiles and, very naturally, brings his hand up to tuck Draco's blond bangs on his ears. Startled by the action, Draco violently pushes the intruding hand away.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Harry Potter blinks, bewildered, and then having seemingly recalled something, smiles awkwardly and retreats his hand, messing up his already disheveled hair.

"Sorry, I forgot."

Draco looks at Harry oddly. He doesn't know why he is here and why Harry Potter is in the same room as him – a room that looks very much like _their_ room.

"What the bloody hell? Why am I here with… with _you_, Scarhead?"

Harry gives him an intense, complicated stare, which unnerves the young Malfoy slightly. Finally, he sighs. "You don't remember anything from yesterday?"

Yesterday? Sounds more like a whole century has passed.

He straightens his posture on the bed and calmly tries to remember. Yesterday… It has truly been so long, as though he has lived in a white room without doors for years. But why do merely a few hours feel like years? Draco unconsciously shrinks, desperately looking for the last thing he experienced inside his memory.

Maybe that day, after his parents' funeral…? His heart suddenly constricts when he remembers the most important thing – they are already gone, really gone.

Yes, it was after the funeral, and then a dark room in the manor, where he had shriveled in a corner three days ago – or many years ago. The wizard radio was cheerfully broadcasting some news, it seemed. Draco didn't care. Unstoppable hopelessness filling his weak lungs, the silvery blond man slowly brought up his wand, and…

_...Obliviate?_

Draco blinks slightly. That's it; he has erased his own memory and slipped into unconsciousness. The Malfoy heir has chosen to forget, forget everything, including the reason for the despair so deep that he had wanted something even more painful than death. It mustn't have been his parents' passing only; there must have been many more essential factors…

And one of those essential factors is…

"Then why can I still remember these puny little things? Even your bloody face?"

Harry sighs and patiently tells him everything. Ron's injuries led him to St. Mungo. The accidental meeting on the hall of the Janus Thickey Ward. A mindless Malfoy on a wheelchair. The guardianship rights brought home with Harry Potter…

However, he has tactfully excluded many important events, such as what they had been doing while Draco still hadn't recovered, or why Harry had taken the other man home.

"I can't believe that you let me live after I hexed you in the face right after I woke up, er, after being mentally attacked by…something. And what the fuck was that something anyway? And why are you being so bloody vague?"

"You don't need to know that. In short, you regained your consciousness yesterday, and then fainted again until now."

Harry has said something more about how he managed to cure the black acne Draco had jinxed him with in his confusion. But Draco doesn't care; what exactly confuses him is why the man who has always hated him with a passion could have brought a mentally ill Draco home and taken care of him for four years. Why does Potter look like he is trying to hide something extremely important?

Hating with a passion?

Draco stops thinking.

He really doesn't know why he hates Harry so much.

To be more exact, he really _doesn't remember_.

Looking at the other man's retreating back, Draco is bewildered with himself.

* * *

That's right, Draco Malfoy cannot remember why he hates Harry Potter.

Which is explained twenty four hours later, when Harry takes him to St. Mungo for a re-examination. The old Healer stares at Draco, deep in thought, and tells them that there indeed are certain cases that have regained their memory after being _Obliviated_, but it is incredibly rare and miraculous.

"Mr. Malfoy's memory, however, hasn't fully come back yet; I mean, he has recalled basic facts such as his identity, his old acquaintances, or basic knowledge of the world in general. To make it more easily to understand, he has taken back his consciousness, but hasn't regained his memories. Those memories either can or cannot go back to him as time passes by. The human mind is naturally complicated and unpredictable."

The Healer's long and boring lecture ends in both participants' solemn. One is contemplating his unexpectedly poor magical ability, having failed to perfectly perform even a simple _Obliviate_ spell. The other, currently standing behind Draco's chair, sighs in relief because the blond doesn't remember anything from the time he was still mindless – he means, everything that Harry did to him. Because it seems Draco Malfoy has now returned to his old personality, which means he has fallen back to hating Harry's guts.

Actually, he sighs, it isn't anything worth celebrating.

Because Harry's feelings for him have changed, while the other still remains in his seventeen-year-old self.

Harry, for the nth time in his life, sees a future hazier than ever.

It even becomes hazier than that when the old Healer warns them that getting the memories back isn't necessarily a good thing. Like a sheet being erased and redrawn on too many times, Draco's mind may have to face many complications, which will more or less affect his health.

But when the blond man looks up and meets his eyes with his own shining grey orbs and says, "Let's just go home", Harry realizes he has now been ready to walk that hazy road.

Because at least, between the old and the new memories, between consciousness and mindlessness, between remembrance and oblivion, perhaps this man would still give him a few rays of hope.

* * *

The next few days in Harry Potter's small apartment stun Draco like never before.

First, despite Harry's best effort to conceal the truth, they really do not have separate rooms. At first, Draco thought the git had left him in the living room or the kitchen's corner, but apparently the Ex-Golden Boy still plays nice to other people – especially to a patient.

And because he has now risen from unconsciousness, a royal wizard of the Malfoy clan – thankfully, Draco remembers this most clearly – would never ever share a room with an unorganized Scarhead.

"I'm going back to Malfoy Manor." – He announces straight away, reaches for a coat and walks out the door.

"Malfoy Manor has already been sealed shut. After you had been admitted to St. Mungo, the Ministry thought the place too dangerous without anyone in charge. You are permitted to go back there only when you have a health confirmation from your legal guardian. That means me."

"Which bloody part of me is unstable?"

"Your health."

"Do you see I'm damaged anywhere?"

"Your head."

"Sorry darling, I don't have a freaky scar on my head, unlike _somebody_."

"My bad, your brain."

"I still think I'm more intelligent than a hell lot of people."

"Doesn't mean you're perfectly healthy. Right now, you don't remember who did what to you; you only have certain feelings about them. For example, what do you think of me?"

"A thorn in my eyes."

"Why?"

"Because I hate you."

"Why do you hate me?"

"Because…"

Draco glares at Harry, who glares right back. Potter is right, his brain must be crazy to despise someone but not recall what they ever did together. He knows they used to be schoolmates and in different Houses. He knows Harry Potter's role in the war as a hero. But everything else, such as the memories they shared at Hogwarts, or the reason he had come to hate Potter so badly after the war, Draco cannot remember.

He just knows that the damn man in front of him is a right git. And the memories of said git must also be nothing short of devastating.

Harry silently looks at a grimacing Draco. He comes nearer, takes the coat away from the blond man, carefully straightens the creases and says:

"I will move into the reading room, and you will stay in my bedroom."

"I'm going to replace all furniture in it."

"If you want."

"You are not to step into my room."

"Without your permission." Harry includes.

"I want a new wand, too."

"When your magic stabilizes, I will take you to buy one."

"And clothes, and books. I want updates on the wizarding world."

"We will go to Diagon Alley, eventually."

"And don't you let me see any Muggle around here just because your house is in the middle of their bloody city."

"Fine, you are not allowed to go out anyway."

Draco angrily shoves Harry on the chest. "Why the bloody hell do you have to approve of all that? Potter, do you really want me here so badly?"

Harry turns his back on Draco, hangs the coat on the hanger and lowers his voice. "I can't have you roaming out there all alone. It's dangerous for you as well as for other people."

Draco smirks, drawling. "Oh, I forgot. You are the Savior, aren't you? When have you ever stopped worrying about mankind?"

Harry doesn't say anything else. He walks into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Before his broad back completely disappears behind the cream-color wall, he mutters:

"Whatever you think, but the first clause is always the more important one."

At that moment, Draco Malfoy is truly petrified.

* * *

And so, due to Harry's incredibly confusing compromise, they start re-furnishing the room not long after.

Draco soon realizes that there is nothing red in the Gryffindor's house, with the exception of small things like the scissors' handles or shoe ties. A long time from now, he will eventually find out it's because the Healer had told Harry about how easily an unstable mind can be affected, and hot tones of colors shouldn't be used in the house.

Draco has to admit, he is a little moved by Harry's thoughtfulness.

The next surprise in many surprises is that the room-that-used-to-be-theirs actually does not need much alteration.

That is when Harry, with his sleeves rolled up high, preparing to rearrange the room, is about to take the green curtains off. The blond then runs immediately to Harry and wails "Leave them there".

Harry stares stupidly at the man who remains the same after four years, now shorter and thinner than him. "But you said…"

"I like them, let them stay."

Draco didn't know the bastard Potter could smile so beautifully. That relieved smile, next to the windows filled with early morning sunlight with green curtains gently flowing...

Draco also realizes that although the room clearly used to be meant for two, there is a lot of green – the color those Gryffindors never fancy. Aside from the double bed, two pillows and a large cream-white blanket, the closet, the nightstand, even the lights, etc., all bear some sort of green on them. The sentence "Leave it there" gradually grows in number; everything simply feels too familiar to let go.

Furthermore, the image of the dark-haired man spreading the bed sheet, folding the blanket neatly and putting it on the bed makes Draco feel more familiar than anything else.

It's like he has seen this exact image for hundreds of times before, also on this chair, watching that man tidying up the room. Watching the sunlight reflected on those glasses and feeling – something akin to pure happiness in Draco's mind.

And when said man turns around, wipes off the sweats and looks at him, Draco knows it isn't just an image.

_It is a memory._

(TBC)

* * *

**A/N: "Autumn leaves" by Ed Sheera - review by Tom Felton XD**


	2. I Won't Give Up

**Author note: whenever Draco is talking about his memories, I'll leave the sentences in past tenses.**

* * *

**Chapter 2.**

**[I won't give up]**

In the end, the one who gets to buy new stuff isn't Draco but Harry, simply because Draco wants to keep most of the things in his room. However, upon seeing Harry take away a pillow, he stil feels strangely disappointed.

But Harry is used to using Muggle devices, and thus has to go to the supermarket, where the young Malfoy would rather die than set foot in. Unable to just leave Draco home alone, the midnight haired man begrudgingly decides on wizarding devices instead and took the blond to Diagon Alley.

To be back to the wizarding world is like a dream, Draco thinks. Even while losing every conscious thought, he still knows it has been a long time, four years to be exact, and much has changed. The excitement makes Draco totally forget to wonder how every coat in the closet could suit his taste like that – he had been surprised by it before going out. Someone seems to have considered them meticulously, as though all he did was to wait until Draco woke up and put them on.

Despite Draco's violent protests, Harry still insists on holding hands so that they can _Apparate_ safely. And the feelings Draco thinks he has abandoned for too long to be used to come back perfectly – nauseous with stars flying around his head when they arrive at their destination.

Before the blond could regain his balance, he has already walked on the damp soil of Diagon Alley, a light rain having let up some time before. Harry quickly lets go of the other's waist, which goes unnoticed by the blond with his head still full of bubbles and wishing he could have a real potty here to empty his stomach in.

"What did I say, you are still not ready to wield magic again."

And Draco tells himself he is just too dizzy to snap back, not because the damn git is so infuriatingly right.

* * *

There are two things a Malfoy could never understand about a… kind person, or in this case, Harry Potter – the epitome of kindness among everyone Draco has ever met.

First, a kind person would spend a fortune on his own enemy for magnanimous purposes.

Second, he would still grin like an idiot while spending that money.

And true to that, the dark haired man in front of him is being a good person, if the above definition is right, but more like a blind fool according to Draco's personal opinion.

"Potter, are your eyes really unable to do anything else but navigate the roads? That blanket looks like rags. Living with Muggles has truly rendered your common sense useless, dear darling." Draco, like a true Malfoy, raises his eyebrow and smirks mockingly at Harry.

However, Harry doesn't show any anger at all, or jump on Draco to beat him senseless like he used to, but only grins widely. "So which one do you think is good enough?"

Having to raise his eyebrow again, Draco wonders in astonishment. He points one fourth of his forefinger at a silver blanket with royal decoration, then lazily lifts his lips, "That one."

And so the foolish Potter dumps the old red and yellow blanket straight away to snatch the new luxurious one. Draco normally doesn't care about the price in any situation – unless you have just woken up after a four-year slumber.

"I didn't know those things would become so expensive."

Draco mutters under his breath after they finished shopping for both of them – because Draco couldn't stand only-watching-others-shop. But to still be able to grin with that 'small' bill… The git must be even more mind-damaged than he is.

"It's because all you chose for me are of fine quality."

"That doesn't mean you _had_ to buy them. So you don't just look stupid; you are a genuine idiot." Draco shoots the other a pitiful glance.

Harry doesn't reply but only smiles slightly. The blond confusedly raises another eyebrow with the man currently carrying a ton of stuff next to him. It seems spending money and being porters are heroes' hobbies, Draco chucks.

They stop in front of a large and crowded bookstore. Draco nudges Harry sharply in the ribs and orders:

"I want some books."

"It's really crowded in there, I think we'll have to huddle our way in."

Draco smirks. "Who said anything about _we_?"

"You mean…?"

"You." – Draco points his thumb at the bookstore. "In there. Get me some books on wizarding news and Potions Today, the latest edition."

Harry glares at the blond who seems to think he is his master, emerald eyes glowing behind the new spectacles Draco chose for him.

"No."

"Too much of a bother to you?"

"No. I can't leave you here alone."

"I won't curse anyone."

"Not without a wand, you won't. What I'm worried about is the exact opposite. Besides, you don't remember the way, what if…"

Draco is now a little angry at this man. "If you insist on being so stupid, let me remind you that the war has ended long ago! And no one in this bloody world would know who I am to even consider cursing me, alright? I'm already a nobody."

Draco breathes heavily, cold sweat forming rivers on his temples. Yes, it's a fact that no one would hurt him now, not only because the war has ended but also because four years in a coma has rendered him a complete zero. No family, no acknowledgement for anybody and no one to remember a Draco Malfoy actually exists.

Harry stares dumbly at the suddenly unreasonably angry man in front of him. Then, he lowers the packages and comes closer, making Draco's heart turn to beating wildly instead of burning in rage.

The midnight haired man, now taller and more masculine than a deadly pale, skinny Draco looks pointedly at him and naturally wipes away the sweat on Draco's cheeks with his hand. Under the autumn's early sun, the young Malfoy's face grows gradually hotter as he struggles to escape that warm, green stare. Harry speaks up, his voice caring and soothing.

"You're sweating again. Give me your hand."

Draco, in a moment of sudden stupidity and bewilderment, shows his hands to Harry and watches him pulling out a well-prepared green handkerchief and carefully wiping off the sweats on Draco's palms.

With his head bowed, the man gently gets rid of all the sweats and talks to him, his voice low and small like a whisper.

"You're always like that, spending a long time walking and you sweat everywhere, on your forehead, neck, and hands too, making your entire body uncomfortable. Don't be crossed anymore, it's not good for your health."

In reality, Draco's rage has already flown off to the Moon ages ago. Now, he cannot take his eyes off the tender expression on the other man's face. It's strange, as though he has never seen that kind of expression on a face so similar to a teenager's he used to know, but at the same time so familiar, so loving.

Out of the blue, in front of the blond man's eyes is the same image, of a mindless him walking beside the dark haired man. That person suddenly stopped and caught his hand, smiled compassionately and said, "You're sweating again."

"Fine, I'll go in there to buy you those books. Be right there and don't wander, I'll come back before you know it."

Very timely, Draco takes back the part of his soul that has been walking around on Mars, pulls back his hand and raises a delicate eyebrow, just enough to snap back, "Don't make me wait for long."

The other man nods slightly and, still carrying all the bags, slithers his way right in the bookstore. All by himself now, Draco leans on the windows near the cream-white wall, scraping his shoes on the old soil and ignoring the sweats forming on his bangs. Whatever, just let that idiot take care of it, is what he thinks.

The Merlin-damned curiosity of a newly free boy – hm, man – however, soon kicks the young Malfoy out of his short-lived boredom. And the one thing that fortunately, or unfortunately, comes into sight of Draco's blue... no, grey eyes is the clothing store on the other side of the street – "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions".

Draco lets his eyes linger on the ocean blue sign of the shop for a while, and ends up at its door before he realizes it. There are countless cloaks, formal robes and everyday clothing inside, just like the store's name.

The owner, having heard someone at the door, graciously walks out to welcome the guest, but immediately changes her expression slightly at the sight of Draco Malfoy. However, unlike Draco's premonitions – she either has forgotten about him, or would scream in terror right about now, Madam Malkin only shows the smallest sign of surprise before smiling at him.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy is going out with Mr. Potter again?"

Draco raises an eyebrow, about to answer when she continues her speech, obviously not relying on Draco's reply.

"Why did Mr. Potter let Mr. Malfoy alone like this? Such unusual carelessness! My dear, don't go anywhere, I'll call Mr. Potter here for you right away!"

He _has_ to speak up now. "Hey, what are you blabbering about?"

Oh, he thinks to himself, she has finally had the right expression on. Madam Malkin widens her eyes at his voice and the trademark Malfoy expressions on Draco's face.

"Mr. Malfoy…?"

"Right in front of you." – Draco reminds helpfully.

"You… how can you talk? … I mean… simple sentences are okay, but…"

Draco smirks, "I've already recovered."

Madam Malkin is truly shocked this time, but so is Draco when she immediately squeals happily right after. "You've recovered? Mr. Potter must be ecstatic! Does he know?"

"Supposedly yes."

Madam Malkin's smile keeps widening by the minute. "I'm sure he is. Mr. Potter has had to wait and give his all to have you healthy again. Oh, I'm so happy!"

Although unsure about the genuinity of the congratulation, Draco still nods as a silent thank you.

"But wait, perhaps you have met me while I was still sick? Have I been here before?"

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter took you here a few times a year for your new robes, or sometimes just to get you used to the outside world and provoke your memories – I guess."

He follows Madam Malkin into the shop so that she can show him the corner they usually choose their clothes on, and the stools they often use to try them on.

"The fact that Mr. Potter became your guardian after you had fallen ill isn't very well-known. You were really c… quiet." (Actually she wanted to say "cute" but let go of the idea due to Draco's ice cold stare). "Just like a child, holding on to Mr. Potter's sleeves, letting him try every kind of robes on you, but unable to say a word even when Mr. Potter tried to ask you something. Mr. Malfoy, he was really patient towards you."

Upon seeing Draco solemnly staring at some Hogwarts cloaks on the hangers, Madam Malkin ends the conversation and leaves him with his tangled thoughts.

Draco runs his fingers on the dark brown material, a nameless nostalgia surging up in him. Suddenly, he glances at the two stools, now feeling so familiar with this place.

And those images reappear in Draco's mind, slowly and hazily like a slow motion film, the colors blend into each other, shining under the light of his memory.

The sunlight narrowly shining through the windows of ten years ago, also on a fine sunny day of autumn, also in this exact place, in the middle of gentle creamy white walls and old dark brown cloaks. He met that person.

The fleeting smiles, the angelic face behind old glasses, that person's disheveled dark hair, his oversize clothes and his young, childlike voice, suddenly appear in Draco's mind.

_Hello. Hogwarts, too?  
_

_Yes._

Draco sees himself smiling at the dark haired boy, the peculiar joy from ten years ago coming back to him when he hears the other boy answer.

Even after the boy stepped down from the stool and walked out, he still sees himself turn around to catch a glimpse, silently regretting not having asked for that boy's name. The film once again turns faster, then stops at where he is.

The boy was still there, taller and with two other friends. Draco knows them, Granger and Weasley, even though that is all he can remember. He even sees the person he has missed to the point of suffering – his mother, standing next to her sixteen year old son, tall, thin and pale.

Draco sees them talking to each other in a not-so-friendly way. But thanks to it, he remembers another name – Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. A stormy memory resurfaces; what happened in his fifth year subtly swims inside his head, with Harry's surrogate father's death and his own father's sins.

Draco's head is starting to hurt, but he still tries his utmost to see his mother's face, sharp and wary at the mention of her cousin's name, more vividly. Instead of the hatred towards Harry at the time, though, Draco is drowned in an overwhelming guilt.

His family had murdered Black, and at the time Draco was too stressed by the pressures on his shoulders to contemplate the matter in the right way. Therefore, it comes as no surprise to him when Harry was about to attack him after the insults his mother and he threw at him.

Then everything is all hazy again, sweeping away, as though Draco himself doesn't want to recall this time period. To be more exact… Draco is afraid of having to face the contempt of them both.

That day… He knows he must have been ecstatic to finally meet Harry Potter. Time turns out capable of altering everything, especially when you grow up as a foolish puppet, never able to escape from Merlin's enormous hand even if you try to run until the end of the world.

Draco waits for his memories to keep flowing as he walks along the hall to the colorful everyday wear section.

He reaches for a coat on a nearby hanger, straightens its creases and belatedly realizes its striking similarity to the very coat he almost put on himself when he demanded to return to Malfoy Manor. Harry seemed very fixated on treasuring it.

Harry did really treasure it….

And Draco suddenly understands why.

Because on one particular day, in the deserted afternoon when snow was painting London white, in this very clothing store, at his exact position, they were both there.

Harry pointed at shirts after shirts, asking him "What do you think?", "Is it good?", "Do you like it?" all along the way. But he only gave him a soulless glance, silently holding onto Harry's sleeves while they walked around hangers full of clothes.

The black haired man continued talking to Draco like that without receiving any reply, and on the other side of the counter, Madam Malkin followed them with eyes full of pity for the hero of the wizarding world.

Draco thinks he understands that feeling, because he himself is experiencing it. In his memory, he watches Harry's handsome face marred with occasional frowns and sadness, but with eyes bright and brilliant – the eyes of a person who is hanging on a thread but never thinks of giving up at all.

As it turns out, that person could become _that_ obstinate for Draco Malfoy.

And just when Draco begins to feel tired of himself being as mindless as an obedient doll, that doll stops following Harry's footsteps.

Harry turned around and stared at Draco strangely, who was paying utmost attention to a beige coat with grey eyes as innocent as a child's seeing a brand new toy.

The midnight haired young man walked to him, a small hope shining in his voice, "You like it?"

Draco didn't answer, but tried to reach for the coat, intending to take it off the hanger. Harry hurriedly came to his assistance, as though he was watching out for a fragile object. Draco hugged the coat and dreamily stared at him.

At that moment, Madam Malkin also went to them from the counter, jovially smiling, and said "That coat is a little too thin to wear in winter, perhaps, and a bit too large for Mr. Malfoy as well."

Just as Madam Malkin finished her sentence, Draco, with the beautifully innocent face at which he himself is looking with eyes impossible wide, lightly pushed the coat on Harry's chest.

"For… me?" – replied Harry, astonished.

As Draco stayed unresponsive as usual, the green eyed young man then carefully put the coat on, and turned around looking at him attentively.

"How do I look?" – asked Harry eagerly.

Just as simple as that, Draco smiled. A smile so small and out of this world that you would have to squint very hard to recognize the upward turn of those lips. So innocent, so pure, with a pale complexion and long lashes fluttering above those high cheekbones and a pair of gentle grey orbs. He unknowingly stroked Harry's collar straight with his hands, and received an impossibly radiant smile from him in return.

"Thank you." The midnight haired man almost seemed to be holding back tears. "Thank you, _love._"

And it dawns on Draco – something that he has spent an entire week mulling over, about why that person could be so stubborn about a damaged one like him for so many years.

Because Harry Potter is not only a Gryffindor, but also a Slytherin at heart. Give him a goal worthy of his desires, and he would courageously bet his everything to reach it.

And Harry's goal was to summon even the smallest sign of life back to Draco's eyes.

(TBC)

* * *

**P/s: "I Won't Give Up" by Jason Mraz XD**


End file.
